Holiday Cheer
by sifting-truths
Summary: "Really, Jason?" He was wedged in her window, a Santa hat pulled onto the fashion disaster he called a helmet. "You don't have a chimney."


A/N: Because even Robins can always use some holiday cheer and bonding. Of Robins and Bat-Barbecues is the super short prequel to this.

* * *

"Really, Jason?"

He was wedged in her window, a Santa hat pulled onto the fashion disaster he called a helmet.

"You don't have a chimney."

The thing that got her, really, was that he said it as if it explained everything. She turned around and looked back down at her homework. "Yeah. First time I've really been glad about it."

They'd talked about the window before. He wasn't supposed to use the window. And yet there he was, his arm flailing around and knocking a stack of papers off her desk. Because that was what she really needed during finals. Jason Todd crawling through her window, flailing about and—_heaven help her_—trying to drag a giant red bag in with him at the same time.

"A little help here?"

She pushed back and looked at him. "You would fit if you weren't wearing that jacket over full body armor. Or trying to bring a giant red bag through with you at the same time."

He finally slipped through the window and landed on her floor with a loud thump, leaving Stephanie infinitely thankful her mother was already off to the hospital.

Instead of replying, he just pulled off his helmet and gave her a toothy grin. Kind of like a giant child that had just done something they knew they weren't supposed to do and was now doing their best to rub it in with the most innocent look they could muster.

And, nope, she was not allowing that.

Also, Jason was terrible at looking innocent.

"Mm. Oh, you know where else you would fit? Through the door, if you would use it. Or maybe through your own window, because some of us have _finals_."

He heaved a put upon sigh and started picking up the papers he'd knocked to the floor. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to her desk. She didn't even want to know what was in the bag that was currently sitting ominously beside him. (He'd come a long way in the last year, she told herself, so there was a minimal chance of body parts. Oh, did she pray there weren't any body parts.)

Maybe if she ignored him he'd go away. Because _that_ was totally a Jason thing to do. He wasn't like an angry, needy cat. No, not at all.

This family took so much work on her part.

Of course, instead of leaving like she... well, implied if not outright asked, or at the very least _saying something,_ he just squatted there by her chair when he finished. Watching her.

When he made a distinct _hmm_ sound, she swiveled around and crossed her arms. "What?"

"Oh, it's nothing. It's just... are you looking a little green?" He bent closer, tilting his head and theatrically cupping his hand to his ear. "And what's that I hear? The sound of a heart that's two sizes too small?"

She resisted the urge to pat down his helmet hair (he wore it well, all things considered, but Stephanie had her doubts as to whether he even bothered brushing it _before_ the helmet went on), squashing it under the smile that wanted to twitch at the corners of her mouth. "Ha ha, Jay. It's not even Christmas for another two weeks."

"It's _never_ too early for Christmas cheer."

"You learn that from the card companies?"

"Where else are you gonna learn about any Holiday cheer in this city?"

She hummed in agreement. And then unfolded her arms. "I am the least Grinchy person in this outfit, okay?"

Jason beamed, rocking back on his heels and looking more than a little mischievous. "Speaking of the Bat."

And _that_ was never good.

. . .

If she was talking to anyone other than Jason, she'd say he had finally lost it. As it was, that seemed like a bit of a moot point and she just continued staring at him in disbelief as he sat there on her bedroom floor. "Are you drunk?"

"Are you implying I wouldn't suggest this while sober?"

And she had to admit he had a point there. And, honestly, this was pretty harmless coming from him. Whimsical, almost.

"Come on, this was in part your idea."

She knew that rooftop heart-to-heart would come back to bite her.

"Yes, but I _was_ drunk. And joking. And have I mentioned tonight that I have _finals?_"

"Always with the schoolwork and the crime fighting and the 'no, Jason, you're not allowed to kill that guy.' You're just no fun, blondie."

"I am plenty fun, _helmet-head_. Fun is my middle name. This plan is not _fun_, it's suicidal."

"Well, given his no-kill policy, I think we'll live. And, look," he stuck a thumb out toward the bag. "I didn't add any of my own little tricks to the bag. We're playing entirely by your rules."

Which was not _entirely_ true from her quick peek in the bag, but that was neither here nor there. The real problem was that the plan _did_ sound fun. And, as much as she tried to ignore the bags under his eyes and the way the corner of his mouth kept threatening to tilt down, Jason looked like he needed it, even if he hid it well.

Stephanie was learning she had a problem with turning down Robins in need.

And, really, how mad could Bruce get?

"I'm putting a strict ban on anything potentially harmful. And—"

She dragged the bag over to her and dug through it.

"We're gonna have to stop at the craft store, first. This isn't enough glitter."

. . .

Jason dropped the bag and his helmet on the floor. They hadn't even bothered with the security cameras. It was going to be pretty obvious who did this. "Ah. Home, sweet home."

"I can't believe we're doing this. Does it ever even occur to you how horrible your plans are?"

He didn't bother looking at her when answering, just squatted down and started rummaging through the bag. "Nope, not really. I find myself to be clever and hilarious, thank you."

Did the ego come with the Robin suit, or was that just how Bruce picked them? "Your sense of humor is terrible, actually."

"Oh, come on, that thing with the dud grenade was great."

Because _that_ was totally something to be bragging about.

"No," she said in a voice that she wouldn't admit veered more toward hysteria than fond reminiscence. "No, it really was not and I think my mother will kill you herself if she ever sees you again."

"And you really think I should have come through the front door earlier?"

_Ugggggh_. "My mother wasn't even home!"

"Details."

Usually when he started busting out the single-word dismissive answers he wasn't listening anymore, so she squatted down by the bag with him.

He tapped her knee with a can of spray paint and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I have a batcave to go deface."

"Hey," she called after him. "Leave the screens alone. I still use this place."

He waved a hand at her over his head. "I doubt you're getting in here again after tonight, but you've got it."

She gave a resigned sigh and went back to sifting through boxes of rhinestones and studs. This was a terrible, horrible ide—_ooo, purple_.

. . .

"You're doing that by hand? Really?"

Stephanie looked up from hot-gluing another rhinestone to one of Batman's capes. "It's too heavy for the bedazzler."

"Ah." He began inspecting her work over her shoulder. "I like this flower over here. And the Rs."

"Mmm, yeah. I was thinking of it as 'Robins were here and you can bite our collective asses.'"

"We're not really the only Robins running around these parts, you know."

"That was the point. I think. Don't question it."

He poked at the pile next to her.

"Ooo, you did the brat's cape, too? I wasn't aware we were expanding to the whole family."

"He had it coming."

"I've no doubt. Not sure why you would _want_ to further antagonize the spawn of Bruce and Talia, but that's cool."

Jason responded to her glare with a bright smile and began pawing through her supplies. After a moment he picked up a jar of blue glitter and made a noise that Stephanie recognized as _I have the best idea and can't wait to revel in how much everyone hates me_.

The grin that followed made her no less worried.

"Dickie bird's batsuits are those ones, right?"

. . .

When she found him again he was standing in front of the case. "How goes it?

"They're gonna be cleaning glitter out of their suits and... well, everything for the next year."

Which was a fair enough way to use what they had left, though she was belatedly hit with a pang of guilt that Alfred may have to clean this all up. Best to bury that one down for now.

She spared the case a glance. "This never gets less macabre and weird, huh?"

He hummed and crossed his arms. "You don't find Bruce's shrine to his own failings endearing?" When she didn't answer, his foot tapped plate at the bottom of the case. "A good soldier. This is about him."

She knew that there was more to it than that—even if she hadn't spent time with him herself, Tim had spent long enough explaining Bruce's weird psychology to her. (Not that Tim was _actually_ the expert on Bruce. Sometimes he was astoundingly stupid given how smart he was.)

"Never noticed there was one missing," Jason said beside her, looking down the line of cases with a furrowed brow.

Her line of thoughts came to a screeching halt and she looked up at him.

"Apparently I didn't—he says he knew I wasn't—"

He slung an arm around her shoulder. "Remind me to fill his shoes with batshit before we go."

Steph gave a shrug.

Because she didn't care, okay?

Nope.

Not at all.

"Welp," he hummed after a moment, fishing in his belt and then dropping down to unscrew the plate. He handed it up to her and rocked back to his feet. "Hold that thought."

He came back and dropped a cardboard box at her feet, barely giving her a, "might wanna cover your eyes," before putting his elbow through the case. It always surprised her that they didn't invest in something a bit sturdier.

Twirling the plate in her hands, she watched him start pulling out the costume piece by piece. _His_ costume, at least, but she had her doubts as to whether Bruce would see it that way.

"I'm not gonna have a job in the morning, am I?"

"Nope. You're the one that let us in. And bedazzled the capes. But look on the bright side: the kid'll probably kill you before Bruce has a chance to frown all of his disappointment at you."

"Oh, right, that's a relief. Here lies Stephanie Brown, murdered by a twelve-year-old over a bedazzled cape."

He gave a solemn nod and bowed his head in mock mourning.

"Too bad her partner in _really stupid crime_ didn't come to her rescue."

With a shrug he tossed the costume he had just pulled out of the case over her shoulder. "Eh, I'll be sure to write you a nice eulogy, though. 'What she lacked in sense, she made up for in slapping Waynes.' Maybe get little Red Robin to tell that story about that time you hit him with a brick."

Sometimes Stephanie seriously regretted sharing certain stories with him. She let it slide and instead clicked her tongue. "Always with the violence, Jason."

"Can you really say that when we're talking about _your_ eulogy?"

He bent back down to the box he'd brought out and pulled something green and Robin red. _Her_ costume. Not the one she wore to swing through Gotham for the few months she was Robin, but the one she had stress-sewn herself and walked right into the Batcave wearing. It didn't quite sit right in the case and it was missing some pieces, but otherwise it looked… good. Somehow fitting.

"Where did you—"

He waved his hand dismissively. "While you were bedazzling I did some snooping in one of the store rooms for the sake of science or history or whatever. You like?"

"Aw. I think it's the most thoughtful Christmas present I've ever gotten."

Yep, she was going to be murdered by a Wayne before the week was over, she just knew it. But at least she'd be in good company.

He stepped back and took his costume from her. "Y'think this'll still fit me?"

"Is that really even a question?"

He held up the tunic and frowned down at how it fell across his chest in a less-than-subtle reminder of how much time (and muscle) lay between Robin and Red Hood.

She was more worried, however, about the way he looked up at her and narrowed his eyes.

"You know, I think this may fit _you_."

"I am _not_ wearing that."

"Eh, your loss. I think the scaly panties would be very fetching on you.

He stopped to wedge the plate into the head of a cowled mannequin and signaled for her to follow him.

When he stopped she had to gape a little. "We're not going to—"

"Oh, yes. We are."

He probably expected her to put up a fight, because when he looked around the expression in his eyes turned from pleading to a satisfied gleam that she was pretty sure matched her own.

"Can I?"

"Knock yourself out, kid."

Ignoring the fact that he had just called her kid (_two years_), she caught the keys and spun around in one smooth motion.

"Does this count as full circle? Stole the tires and now I'm just stealing the whole car?"

She hummed a non-committal response as she continued trailing her hand up the side of the batmobile. Yeah, she had been waiting for this.

"You sure you don't want to Robin-it-up for this? Because I could snag one of those," He hooked a thumb toward the display of cowls. "And I think it would be kind of priceless."

"I am _not_ your side-kick."

"Hey, hey, you're the one driving the car."

. . .

"Um, Robin, you think you might want to slow down a bit?"

"Nope."

Batman clutched the dash of the batmobile. "You sure."

She wiggled in her seat. The scaly panties did not, in fact, fit.

"Yep, pretty sure."

"Okay. I mean, I was kind of hoping to not make a return visit to a grave any time soon, but okay."

When the car came to a stop ten minutes later, it wasn't _quite_ a screeching halt. Because Stephanie was a responsible twenty-year-old.

It was close, though.

In the convenience store Steph became keenly aware of the draft on her legs right about the same time the clerk looked up. To the guy's credit—or perhaps as a testament to just how sad living in Gotham was—he barely batted an eyelash at the masked duo walking through the doors.

She stopped in front of the case of donuts and Jason disappeared to the back, babbling the praises of twenty-four hour convenience stores.

"Holy overpriced stale donuts, Batman," she mumbled, wrinkling her nose.

Batman appeared over her shoulder, chocolate milks in hand. The ability clearly went hand-in-hand with the cowl.

"Now, Robin, be nice. We're in the 'burbs. Everything's overpriced."

She paid for his loot (because apparently even when she's running around in scaly green panties she was still the only thing close to a responsible adult around here), then propped herself up on the hood of the batmobile for what would likely be a hell of a show.

In front of her Batman's gloved fingers slid over the plastic wrapper of a packet of donuts.

"Need some help, Jay?"

"Nope."

Finally he pulled them open—a bizarrely dainty move for Batman—and gave her a grin as he popped a donut into his mouth.

She tried not to think of when the last time those gauntlets were washed was.

"So, Batman, where to next?"

"I think we need to go kick some teeth in if we're already out here and all dressed up for prom."

She gave him a level look. Which was hard for someone who had been wearing a lens-less cowl for the last couple years, but she made it work.

"Come on, I promise not the sully Bruce's name any more than I already am."

Which was fair enough coming from a Batman standing in a convenience store parking lot with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, a plastic bag hanging on his arm, and a half-eaten sleeve of powdered donuts in hand.

And she supposed the frown drawn over the bat on his chest in silver sharpie didn't help the matter.

"I'm driving back to the cave in an hour. With _or without_ you."

. . .

Okay, maybe it was more like an hour and a half.

She stretched and looked around the cave. "So, how're you feeling?"

His look said that she wasn't supposed to know he needed the arts and crafts vandalism therapy tonight, but he smiled.

"Pretty good. Light as a feather. Free as the wind." He took a breath as he surveyed the cave himself. "Kinda hungry. Waffles?"

She huffed out a laugh. "I do eat other things, you know."

"Nah, I call bullshit," he said, holding out his arm. Steph rolled her eyes and took it, and together they marched up to the manor to raid Alfred's well-stocked cupboards and dirty his spotless kitchen.

'Twas two weeks before Christmas, and not even a single fuck was given.

(Except for when Stephanie awoke to the sounds a hissing twelve-year-old being restrained by a sheepish looking Batman, who informed them that they may want to get out before Bruce got home and that they should probably leave the costumes.)


End file.
